11: Two Flowers, One Root
Bruce opened his eyes and he wasn't on the S.H.I.E.L.D. quinjet. He was sitting on the ground on a grassy plain, but the grass was red and the stars above weren't the normal constellations one could see from Earth. The brilliant multiple moons illuminating the landscape bright as daytime and their astonishing closeness were another giveaway. There was a low almost musical humming that was very familiar, but Bruce couldn't tell what the source of it was because it simply seemed to be everywhere. He felt immensely at peace here. His normally racing thoughts seemed to have slowed down and matched the quieter rhythm of the place. Then he realized he wasn't alone. In fact, he was sitting back to back with someone. Bruce looked inward and knew who it was. He turned slowly and was surprised to find instead a small child curled up and apparently sleeping on the grass. Bruce felt drawn to him. The child stirred and whimpered as if he were having a bad dream. Bruce reached out and brushed his dark curly hair away from his face. He might have been four or five years old. The child latched onto Bruce's hand and pulled it to his chest. Bruce eased his other arm under the boy and lifted his small frame into his own lap and held him close. It just seemed right. The whimpering stopped and the tension eased out of his slight body. The hum became a multi-octave chord, and it resonated through both of them. Bruce bent over him, kissed his forehead and rested his cheek in the dark nest of curls atop the child's head. The chord resolved itself and faded into the background. Bruce was overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings. Who was this child? Why did he instantly bond so completely with him? Bruce didn't want this moment to end; he wanted it to go on and on.
"It can go on," said a deep and sonorous voice behind him. "You've made the decision now, and your heart has changed, Dr. Banner, which makes my job a lot easier."
"You must be Dr. Strange," said Bruce, not moving and not really caring that tears were slipping out of the corners of his eyes. Soon he was sobbing without knowing quite why. A hand offered him a handkerchief and Bruce took it gratefully and used it. "Thank you," he said and felt like he was coming back to himself. The child in his lap stirred and his eyes sprang open. Bruce wasn't surprised they were a deep and grassy green, like his mother's had been. The two smiled at each other and the child scrambled out of his lap like a bird taking flight. His two small hands pulled Bruce's face close and the boy planted a wet kiss on his forehead. One hand lingered for a moment as he examined Bruce's own graying curls, and then he laughed before skipping off into the grass.
"Is it safe for him here? He can't hurt anything, can he?" Bruce asked.
"Yes, he'll be fine while we talk." They both watched the boy for a minute. He seemed quite happy to run and entertain himself. He was beautiful as most young children are, but there was something not quite normal about him. Bruce finally looked up and turned his full attention on the tall, slim man standing beside him for the first time. Bruce started to stand up, but Strange stopped him and instead sat down gracefully beside him on the ruby-colored grass. Bruce wasn't sure what he'd expected a Sorcerer Supreme to be like, but the piercing blue eyes and slightly mischievous smile were a little surprising, as were the heavy gold medallion and the blue silk pajamas—at least that's what Bruce thought they were. He guessed a sorcerer could wear whatever he or she wanted. His hair was grayer than Bruce's at the temples, but his face was smooth and hard to pin an age on. His hands and beard were neat and well-groomed in a professional sort of way.
"Yes, to answer your earlier question, I am Stephen Strange. Please call me Stephen. May I call you Bruce?" Bruce nodded and shook the hand Strange offered him. "I'm glad you managed that on your own. I knew you were close, so I didn't want to muck it up by interfering."
"What just happened?"
"You forgave yourself, Bruce, the part of you that's taken the blame and the rage almost all of your life. It's the part that's been crippled and stunted by your circumstances. You don't have a clean slate, but things are going to be different. Even if you don't remember this later, you've started down a better path with him," Strange gestured toward the boy.
Bruce tried to take this in, "I know that's the part of me that's the Hulk out there picking flowers, so why is he a child here?"
"You came here via an Orb of Seeing. It functions as more than just a communication device, like one of the Palantir or Seeing Stones from Tolkien. (Yes, I know you've read his works and loved them dearly, so don't deny it, man of science and imagination.) This artifact can strip off the layers we've constructed to reveal our true selves. Or, if someone had been under the influence of a glamour or illusion spell, for example, I would see the true person underneath as well."
The more Bruce considered this concept, the more his thoughts started to spin and spiral. He wanted to put his head between his knees and rock himself back and forth, but he also wanted to go pick flowers with the Big Guy and get to know him. "Why so young?" Bruce asked.
"There are different theories from subsumed twins to fractured or multiple personalities, but most would agree it starts with an initial trauma. When did you experience the incident that split him off from you? It certainly wasn't 'the accident'. He's been with you much longer than that."
Bruce stared at his hands, "One of my earliest memories is of my father hitting me and my mother picking me up to comfort me." He swallowed. "I used to imagine being someone who was able to protect me. I was maybe three or four."
"Do you remember any other incidents with your father."
"Some, but I've blocked many of them. I can't remember anything completely except the anger."
"So that was most likely when the split occurred."
"Shouldn't he still be older, at least my age?"
"How often do you 'let him out'? How often is he in control of your mind and body?"
Bruce added it up. "Hours… days if it's all tallied up. Sometimes he's there in the background, but I'm not sure if that actually counts."
"Then he really only has a total of four or five years actual experience because—I'm not judging you, Bruce—he's been closeted away. I would theorize that's why he presents as so young and, frankly, socially and developmentally delayed. He's not going to be your equal in age and maturity because he lacks actual experience in the world. He shares many things with you because of your common origin and some shared experiences, but other traits he has to a much greater extreme."
Perhaps sensing they were talking about him, the boy approached almost shyly and held out a hand full of alien flora, which he laid on the ground in front of Bruce and Strange. "Thank you," said the sorcerer, and selected one of the flowers the child had pulled up by the roots from out of the pile.
The boy then launched himself into Bruce's arms where he hugged him around the neck with the intensity of one so young. Bruce held him to his chest. He could feel his little heart beating wildly like a bird's. "I love you, Big Guy," Bruce whispered past the lump in his throat. The child seemed so fragile and ethereal, the Hulk's complete opposite. Bruce could think of nothing but protecting and nurturing him. Had he been this wrong about who the Hulk was for this long—essentially from the beginning?
"Love Puny Bruce," the boy whispered in Bruce's ear. He then pulled free and trotted away, spinning in circles as he went. Bruce pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged his legs. He stayed like this for a few minutes, but the sorcerer's cool hand on his shoulder brought his thoughts back to the present.
"I promise, it's going to continue to get better for you both." Strange held up the flower. "See how it starts from one bulb and splits into two flowers. Remember that. You come from the same roots. You are the same plant. You've experienced the same trauma. You need to set aside your fears and work together for both of you to function and to be happy, if not whole."
Bruce nodded, "I think I understand that now. Somehow I made him to protect me when I was small, and he's been doing that and more ever since."
"Yes, and the accident allowed him to manifest and express the rage and unhappiness you've both felt."
"We're a damaged vessel."
"But you can and will mend."
"You keep speaking like you already know me. Like we're already friends."
"Because we are. All three of us will be. In this place I experience multiple timelines. That's how I knew something was wrong, that you'd gone off the rails, so to speak.
Bruce was now wishing Strange hadn't explained the time dissonance because he was starting to feel it more and more powerfully. "Okay, I'm getting a double feeling of déjè vu because I can't tell if we've had this discussion before or if it's one we are going to have."
"Yes, you're sensing the chronological multiplicities of the place. Take my hand."
Bruce grabbed a little too anxiously onto Strange's hand and immediately felt the dissonances resolve and synchronize again. He had to take a moment to bring his breathing and heart rate back to normal. "Thanks, that's better," he finally said.
"Sorry, Bruce, sometimes I forget certain sensitivities of yours set you up for problems with this place."
"I'm sort of used to my own thoughts becoming a jumble. One moment it feels like we just crossed over into a bizarre Hogwarts/time turner fantasy, but," Bruce looked around and gestured at the landscape, "it's certainly not a train platform, and you don't remind me that much of Dumbledore either."
"Well, for one thing I'm alive," Strange said with a smile. "But, if you put on your glasses, maybe you'd remind me a bit of Harry." He glanced over at the boy, "Please keep in mind, that's not Voldemorte over there. He's a piece of you."
Bruce hugged his knees again, "Well, I think I might be a horcrux."
"You're no horcrux, Bruce, and neither is Hulk."
"But my father was practically Voldemorte, and I carry the potential for some of that evil with me as does the Hulk."
"You're ceding too much power to your father's memory. He didn't make you a horcrux, Bruce. You have agency. You two can choose your own path. Search your heart. Now that you see Hulk for what he really is, how do you feel about him?"
Bruce took a deep breath, "I want to love and protect him right now in this form, but is it going to stay that way when he's large and green and angry? He's killed people, for God's sake. That means I've killed people."
"How you react to him is completely up to you, but you need to consider the circumstances surrounding your actions. You take on the complete weight of responsibility, even when it's not all yours to bear. This exquisitely overdeveloped sense of guilt keeps you from recognizing the real issues. If you can forgive and love that child, you can find yourself worthy of love and forgiveness. Yes, take responsibility, but make it part of reconciliation and healing, not a cycle of self-torture and denial. Instead of limiting the pain and damage to just yourself, you're now to the point of taking others down with you, and that will soon have much larger consequences."
Bruce watched the child who was now hopping and leaping from tussock to vermillion tussock of grass. They had connected so intensely and completely in this peculiar moment after nearly a decade of mistrust. Bruce could feel it—he really had forgiven the Big Guy and by extension at least part of himself. Would they both take a memory of this with them to build on or would it be back to antagonism and guilty self-loathing? Deep down he knew forgiving the child and even the Hulk was the easy part; forgiving himself required undoing patterns etched bone deep like the radiation that now resided there in the marrow. Bruce covered his eyes with his hands. It's not you I don't trust. I don't trust me.
"As much as I hate pulling you away from your thoughts," said Strange after a long period of silence, "I'm afraid we need to talk about matters even bigger than you and Hulk."
"I'm listening," said Bruce, adjusting his legs back to a cross-legged posture.
"I'm not sure how much Phil told you, but one of my responsibilities as Sorcerer Supreme is to observe matters on both the spiritual or astral plain as well as the physical one. Several days ago while I was meditating, I sensed a release of energies that crossed multiple realities, including Asgard and our own plane of existence. I instantly recognized an imbalance between order and chaos that I've since learned coincided with the Avengers' attack on Strucker's base in Sokovia. I had an uneasy feeling but hoped it was simply an unanticipated blip on the celestial radar. Days later I again felt the same release of chaotic forces, but this time the elements of order didn't counter them completely and balance out the results. I've been searching for the source of the original energy release and doing my best to correct the effects ever since. I haven't found the original energy source yet, but I'm sure you can guess who used the Chaos Magic.
"That would have to be Wanda Maximov," Bruce sighed. He knew all too well the kind of power she could wield and how much she could mess with a person's head. "She's young," he said. "She's not had her powers that long, and I doubt she's had any training. Despite being a novice, she's still very powerful."
"That's precisely what I've suspected, and she's next on my let's-have-a-chat list."
Bruce had every reason to still be mad at her. She had yet to even say she was sorry for what she'd done, but he now wanted to move past assigning the blame. "Please try and remember she's very young and Ultron manipulated her," added Bruce.
"Interesting," said Strange. "As justifiably furious as you were with her actions not 24 hours ago, you're already cutting her more slack than you ever give yourself."
"I'm quirky that way," Bruce deflected.
"Ah, remember your Milton. The only unforgivable sin is thinking that you are beyond forgiveness."
Bruce sighed and turned to fully face the sorcerer, "Is this the part where you lecture me about hubris and creating artificial intelligence?"
"Actually, no, I'm hoping you, at least, have learned that lesson on your own. (It's Stark, about whom I'm not so certain.) No, it's about the consequences of you leaving your friends and the people who love you."
Bruce was a little surprised by that because he felt he had done the right thing by leaving to protect Natasha and also the rest of his friends and the people around him from what the Hulk could do. He felt staying was intolerably reckless and courting another disaster like Johannesburg. The only responsible thing to do was to remove himself from society, at least until he could figure out how to control himself.
Anticipating his thoughts, Strange continued, "I know you felt like you had no other choice but to leave to protect everyone. I can't imagine a more noble sentiment, but please contemplate what your presence has meant for other people. Consider Mr. Stark. If you hadn't been working with him on the Ultron project, the consequences would have been far worse. There would also not have been a Vision to help counter Ultron if you hadn't been there. In fact, that one act has made you responsible for more positive things than you can imagine. If this isn't getting through, we could watch It's a Wonderful Life a few times."
Bruce still looked quite skeptical, "You're saying I should go back because Tony needs me?"
"I'm saying that without you there to help balance him out, your friend's future is bleak, and the rest of the world will need Tony Stark and you Bruce Banner to face what's coming."
Where can I go that I'm not a threat? Bruce covered his face with his hands before running them down to his jawline. "What are you asking me to do?"
"I'm asking you to take some time to start solving your internal problems (today has been a good start), to ask for help with them, and then to go back and be the man you're supposed to be. I've waited till now to mention Ms. Romanoff because we both know she's tough and resilient. You've emotionally eviscerated her, but she will throw herself into her work once again and on the surface she'll be okay. Maybe she'll even find someone who loves her half as much as you do someday. But what you're doing, Bruce, is killing the future possibilities you should have had together." To make his point, Strange looked out across the sea of grass blades red as blood at the child who was now frolicking and throwing handfuls of grass and flowers into the air.
Bruce swallowed hard, "That isn't possible, Stephen."
"I think you know it is." Strange let that idea soak in for a moment. "You should be dead, Bruce. Your body took in more radiation than some suns can generate in that same instant. You didn't die. Your body embraced that radiation and adapted. In fact, it hasn't quit adapting either. You and I both know that on a genetic level you're no longer strictly human. That doesn't mean you've lost your humanity; it just means you're capable of greater things. More than just our little corner of the universe requires you to do greater things. But first, you have to get your shit together, Bruce."
At this, Bruce almost laughed with bitterness, "Who do I get to help me with him? It's not like there are a lot of psychologists used to working with large and dangerous clients on his scale. He is a real danger to anyone who works with him or me."
"The question is, who works with children like him? I think that's something Phil and his people can help you find."
As they were both watching, the tiring child went down in a heap and wailed. Bruce was already up on his feet and hustled over to see what was wrong. He quickly knelt and picked him up out of the grass and began checking his limbs. "Are you hurt?" The boy stopped his keening and held out his hands for Bruce to check them. It was hard to tell the red grass stains apart from any real damage, but it looked to be a small cut from a grass blade. Painful, but there wasn't much he could do here under the circumstances. Bruce scooped him up and balanced the child on his hip. "It's a boo-boo. Let me kiss it and make it better." Bruce kissed his palms and the boy grinned in a very Hulk-like way. "Are you going to growl at me now?" Bruce made sure to look shocked.
"Rawwwaaarrrr!" said the boy, his beautiful green eyes framed by his wild, dark curls.
"That was good! That should scare most of the boo-boos away." Bruce wanted to spend time with this child. He wanted to know him better. He wanted to help fix things for him, but he knew Strange was right. He had muddled through their issues for too long on his own. Now that Bruce saw "the monster" for who he was, he had to get help from someone who knew what sorts of developmental delays and other issues the Big Guy was having. Bruce started walking back toward Strange. Saying good-bye was just going to be harder the longer he put this off. The boy was patting Bruce's ears and face and checking out his gray hair again, which genuinely seemed to amuse him. "Just go ahead and laugh. In all the pictures I see, you have gray hair and funny ears, too." Bruce then tickled him, and the boy shrieked with laughter.
"You know you're not really leaving each other," said the sorcerer, and he put a gentle hand on each of their heads. "You'll both be in here. I don't know how many specifics you'll remember about our conversation, but as long as you retain the gist of it—which, trust me, you shall—things will soon be set right. Some of this you'll remember when you need to do something or when you're ready to remember it. I won't forget either of you. It won't be that long till we get to meet again in person, so even if you do forget me, we'll be friends again very soon. Until then, trust each other."
Bruce took one last look at the alien sky and held the child close. The boy buried his face in Bruce's neck and sobbed. Bruce cradled his curly head close and breathed in the smell of him to remember and closed his eyes.
